The Points Don't Matter
by Bain Sidhe
Summary: Professor Granger is tired of Snape's prejudice against her house, and takes action. The ensuing war between Slytherin and Gryffindor results in massive loss of points and an exhilarating tension between the headstrong Heads of House... NOW COMPLETE!
1. Commencement of Hostilities

Disclaimer:  Unfortunately, I do not own Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, or any other personas created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N:  This is set in the future.  I don't think there are any OOTP spoilers in here.  I don't know if this concept has been done before; if it has, I haven't read it.  Enjoy!

            "Spencer!  What exactly do you think you're doing?"  

Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, towered menacingly over a palpably terrified first year student, who stood with his wand pointed at another young boy.  The other student looked considerably less agitated; in fact, he watched smugly as Snape glowered furiously at his peer.

"Pro-Professor, Kildare started it, sir, he shoved me into the wall and threatened to h-hex me after Herbology -" Spencer stuttered badly as his wavering gaze met the intense glare of the formidable professor.  Kildare, obviously enjoying the other boy's discomfort, smirked wickedly.

Snape sneered at the trembling student, then turned to young Kildare.  "Is this true, Kevin?" Snape asked in a low, smooth voice.  Kevin Kildare smirked even wider at his head of house.  

"Of course not, Professor Snape," he simpered, his voice oozing with saccharine innocence.  "I don't know what Spencer's playing at, I would _never-_" he pronounced the word with such faux outrage that it took all of Spencer's willpower not to hex him right in front of Snape- "ever, consider hexing another student, Professor."  Kildare shot Spencer a smug look of triumph.

"I see," Snape purred.  "Well then.  I think, what, twenty points from Gryffindor for trying to attack another student in the halls, and another ten for lying about it… yes, that should do nicely."  He sneered viciously at Spencer.  The eleven-year-old boy, appalled at having just lost his house thirty points, opened his mouth to protest.  However, upon seeing Snape's self-satisfied leer, he quickly thought better of it.  Ducking his head so as not to meet the arrogant countenances of either Slytherin, Spencer hurried off down the corridor, red-faced.  Kildare gave a short, sycophantic laugh, nodded at Snape, and continued on his way to his own class.

Professor Hermione Granger watched the entire performance, rage coursing through her veins.  She knew Snape was flagrantly unfair in his treatment of students, ignoring all but the most serious of infractions from his precious Slytherins and punishing harshly the least offenses of the Gryffindors.  It had been so when she had attended Hogwarts, and little had changed.    Allan Spencer had, of course, not lied about Kildare's behavior; she knew this even though she had not witnessed the altercation.  If she had, she would have intervened on his behalf.  But as it was, Snape had gotten to them first, and it would be highly unprofessional of her to challenge Snape's discipline in front of students.  Not that what he was doing was professional, but Hermione always prided herself in her ability to rise above the pettiness of others.  

But she was no longer an impotent student, powerless to stand up to the intimidation of her frightening Potions Master.  No, now she and Snape were colleagues and fellow Heads of House.  She had succeeded Minerva McGonagall as Head of Gryffindor House after McGonagall had been appointed as Headmistress following Dumbledore's death.  She had a personal and professional stake in the House standings and she would be damned if Snape helped Slytherin cheat their way to the House Cup.  She strode purposefully after Snape, who had just left the scene of the crime and was heading back down to his dungeons.

"Professor Snape," she called after him.  He stopped and turned slowly, obviously loath to hear her voice.  He fixed her with his best impatient glare.  

"_Professor_ Granger," he said curtly.  The contempt with which he spat out her title was not lost on her.  She had the distinct feeling that, even though she had been professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts for four years now, Snape still considered her little more than the insufferable, bossy know-it-all he had believed her to be as a student.  Of all the faculty members, he alone refused to be on a first-name basis with her.  It usually did not bother her too much – after all, it wasn't as if she actually desired his company.  At any rate, she was not going to stand by while Snape took points from her house for ridiculous things.  

"Professor, I think we need to have a discussion about inter-house discipline," she began, meeting his surly gaze with her own unwavering one, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated by him.  She respected him for his heroics during the War against Voldemort and admired the cunning and courage he had shown as a double agent.  Keeping this in mind, she pressed on.  "I don't think you had sufficient justification to dock thirty points from Gryffindor while allowing your student to go unpunished.  You merely took your student's words at face value, while at the same time accusing Mr. Spencer of lying.  Did it not occur to you that, in fact, Mr. Kildare might have been the prevaricator in this situation?"  She wrapped up her spiel, cursing herself for the feeling of trepidation that was rising in her chest.  She forced herself to maintain eye contact and braced herself for the onslaught of icy fury that would no doubt soon erupt from the Potions Master.  

True to form, Snape's eyes frosted over, his expression even more sinister and hateful than it had been before.  His lip curled back and he sneered rather evilly at Hermione.  "Professor Granger," he spat frigidly.  "I have been teaching here for nearly as long as you have been alive.  I believe that I am capable of punishing students for their infractions without your meddling interference.  Did you see Mr. Kildare's wand out, Professor?" he challenged her, his eyes burning.  She continued to meet his glare with defiance, though inwardly she cringed.  He was right.  Spencer _had_ been the only one with his wand out.  Whatever Kildare had said to him had obviously provoked him into drawing his wand – but that could never be proven.  Hermione wanted to curse.  

Snape, sensing his victory, allowed a taunting smirk to creep onto his face.  "Well then, _Professor_," he drawled, "if you are finished questioning my competence, I have _important_ things to do.  _Good day_," he sneered, voice dripping with acid.  

Hermione seethed.  Damn him!  It was obvious that he had just taken points from Gryffindor out of spite, but what could she do?  Wait… there was one more thing…

"Oh, Professor," she called out again in a honeyed voice, suppressing a smirk of her own as she watched him stiffen in irritation.  "What about the ten points you took for Mr. Spencer's supposed dishonesty?  I don't believe it would be _proper_ to take points away based solely on the testimony of another student who very likely was trying to save his own skin," she reasoned.  She was surprised when Snape whirled around and stalked back to where she was standing, stopping just inches from her face.  Had she been a student, she would have been scared to death.  As it was, his consternation was merely unpleasant.

"Of course," he hissed.  "You are, as always, correct, Professor.  It was improper of me to take points away from Gryffindor for dishonesty," he bit out sullenly.  Hermione tried to stifle the feeling of shock that was welling up in her.  Had Professor Snape just admitted that she was right?  Had she finally talked some amount of reason into him?

"Instead," he intoned silkily, reverting to his Evil Smirk, "I will take the points away for impertinence."  With a final sneer, he spun around with a flourish and marched down the hall, robes billowing out behind him.

Hermione felt her jaw drop as she watched him stalk away to the dungeons.  Bastard!  Of all the nerve!  The race between Slytherin and Gryffindor for the House Cup was especially close this year.  Gryffindor had a superior Quidditch team and looked to win the Quidditch Cup, but if Snape had his way, he would deduct enough points to hand the House Cup to his own House.  She clamped her jaw shut, gritting her teeth in anger.  

Fine.  If this was the way he wanted to play the game, then fine.  Two could play at this.  Gryffindor had just missed winning the Cup last year, and by all accounts should win it this year.  She was not about to let Snape's low-down, slimy, underhanded, cheating dirty Slytherin tactics screw her out of her first House Cup! 

  She strode purposefully towards her private rooms in Gryffindor Tower.  As far as she was concerned, this was war.  


	2. The First Round

Severus Snape sipped sullenly at his coffee, looking up every now and then to direct pointed glares across the Great Hall.  He hated breakfast.  He hated dealing with loud, hyper children early in the morning – hell, he hated dealing with loud, hyper children at any time during the day.  But especially before noon.  And he was in an extra sullen mood this morning, too, so the little brats had best watch themselves around him if they knew what was good for them.

            He could not get over Miss Granger's – no, scratch that, _Professor_ Granger's – audacity the previous evening.  How dare she question his disciplinary methods!  How dare she presume to know better than he how to keep students in line!  How dare she baldly imply that he was biased and partial!  How dare she!

            Professor McGonagall had very rarely interfered with him when she was Head of Gryffindor.  Of course she knew what went on, but she allowed him to have his favorites; after all, no one else liked the Slytherins, they had to have an ally somewhere, right?  Besides, it was just the way things were.  Snape insulted Gryffindors and favored Slytherins.  Everyone knew this; everyone accepted this.  Dumbledore himself hadn't had a problem with it – well, not a major problem anyway.  Not that he knew of.  But that was beside the point.  This was the way things were, dammit!

            And in saunters Granger, know-it-all Granger, with her bushy brown hair and bossy voice and neverending supply of knowledge.  Granger, who knew the answer to the most obscure questions he could dredge up.  Granger, who never tired of flaunting her intellect in front of the rest of the class.  Granger, who he was now forced to call a colleague, and who apparently hadn't changed one damn bit.  

            He grudgingly admitted that he admired her heroics during the final battle against Voldemort.  He very grudgingly admitted that she had been quite brilliant and that her quick thinking had saved many lives that day.  He never admitted (except, maybe, to himself, when he was alone, and only once or twice, mind you) that he admired her prodigious intellect and thirst for knowledge, or identified with her love of reading, or was impressed by her headstrong and fiery nature.  No.  She was just another obnoxiously self-righteous Gryffindor, and now she was encroaching on his territory.  Well, if she knew what was good for her – 

            _Speak of the devil_, Snape thought petulantly, as Hermione Granger entered the Great Hall.  She sashayed down the aisle between the house tables, pausing to smile and greet some of her Gryffindors as she passed their table.  She continued on her way to the faculty table, walking by the Slytherins, some of whom cast shadowed glares in her direction.

            Snape brought his coffee up to his lips once more, his eyes flitting around the Hall, glancing up as the morning post arrived and owls swooped in from the window.  He looked back at his house's table – and nearly spit out his coffee.

            There was Granger, stopped inexplicably in front of the Slytherin table, hands on her hips, steely glare fixed on a burly fifth-year.  Snape's eyes widened as he saw Granger snap something at the boy, who looked both surly and chastened.  He watched her as she stormed away from the Slytherin table, leaving a rather mutinous-looking crowd in her wake.  As he watched her approach the head table with growing incredulity, her eyes met his for a split second – was that a _smirk_ she just flashed at him, or was he imagining things?

            Snape tried to turn his attention back to his coffee, but the odd exchange he'd just witnessed gnawed at him until he found himself rising from the table and striding over to the other side, where Professor Granger sat next to Professor Vector.  He nodded a curt greeting to Headmistress McGonagall and made a beeline for Granger, who sat smirking to herself, spreading cream cheese on her bagel.  

Hermione sat down at the head table, obviously pleased with herself.  She bid a warm 'good morning' to Professors McGonagall and Vector and helped herself to a glass of milk and a bagel.  She bit back a smile as she recalled the look on that Slytherin oaf's face as she docked twenty points from his house for 'improper language.'  True, he'd only said 'hell' – and God knew Ron and Harry had said much, much worse when they got worked up – but that was beside the point.  If Professor Snape could be petty and vindictive, so could she, she thought, unable now to repress her grin of glee.  

Speak of the devil, she thought impishly.  She had to bite her lip to keep from smirking even wider at his expression of ill-disguised aggravation as he stomped towards her.  He pulled out a chair on the other side of her and sat down uninvited, looking at her with a combination of irritation and impatience.  "Good morning, Professor," Hermione said cheerfully.  "Care for a doughnut?" Snape nearly snarled at the proffered pastry and leaned closer to her, so close that she could smell the scent of the soap he used.  Mmm, Irish Spring, she thought absently.   "You know damn well I don't want a doughnut," he snapped.  "Exactly what the hell was that-" he jerked his thumb towards the Slytherin table- "little display?  Since when have you taken a sudden interest in my students?"  He sat back, arms crossed, waiting for her response. 

            Hermione was ready for this.  _You're so very predictable, Professor_.  "I was disciplining a student," she said casually, turning her attention from him back to her bagel.  "I was under the impression that, as a professor, I am allowed to do so," she added for his benefit, glancing up from her bagel to gauge his reaction.  _Perfect, _she thought, watching his eyes widen briefly in anger.

            "Fine," he replied tersely, through gritted teeth.  "Of course you are well within your rights to do so.  However, I would, if I were you, instruct the students in my house to walk the straight and narrow.  You wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose its chance at the Cup because of the unruly behavior of its students, I daresay… after all, that would be a poor reflection on the Head of House," he said silkily, the Evil Smirk once again playing across his face.

            Hermione set down her glass of milk a little too hard, splashing some of it out of the glass and onto the table.  She turned around to glare in righteous indignation at her smirking colleague.  "Is that a threat, Professor?  Because if it is, then I – if I were you – would give a similar warning to my own house.  I promise you," her voice dropped to a quiet murmur that only he could hear- "that I can get just as nasty and malicious as you.  If it's a war you want, then you've got it," she hissed, standing up suddenly. 

            "Well, Professor, I must be off.  I have second-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws first thing in the morning – that promises to be an _entertaining _class," she said, glancing only briefly at Snape, then nodding a farewell to other teachers before striding out of the Hall.

            If she had glanced back at Snape, still sitting beside her empty chair at the end of the faculty table, she would have seen an expression that had never before graced his countenance – a mixture of awe, dread, and admiration, as he sat, slack-jawed and in utter disbelief.


	3. Escalation

Author's Note:  A huge thanks to all my reviewers thus far – I never dreamed that my story would get 15 reviews total, let alone on the first two chapters!  I'm glad you are enjoying this.  I apologize for the slow update, but I warn you that I am quite bad about updating, so please have patience and bear with me.  I have only a rudimentary outline for this story, and all the details in between I write as I go, so it may take me some time to figure out where I want to go next.  Once again, thanks for your feedback, and I do hope to finish this sometime in the next month or so.  

Hermione stood behind her desk, absent-mindedly perusing her lesson plans.  Second year Transfiguration was still quite basic, but she had to bear in mind that most students were not able to master the subtleties of turning beetles into buttons as well as she did in her second year.  _Of course, I missed a good portion of second year, what with being petrified and all, _she thought vaguely.  The bell rang, signaling the beginning of her class period.  

            She looked up from her lesson plans at the gaggle of young Slytherins and Ravenclaws seated around the room.  This was a fairly competent class – she always enjoyed teaching Ravenclaws, as they usually caught on much more quickly than the students of other houses did.  The only downside was putting up with the often surly and foul-tempered Slytherins.  _But, _she thought, _if any of them so much as raises an eyebrow out of turn, Slytherin will be down ten points faster than you can say 'Irish Spring'._

Irish Spring?  Where had _that_ come from?  

            "All right, class, today we're going to resume transfiguring a mouse into a clock.  Raise your hands if you were able to successfully complete the assignment on Monday."  She surveyed the room, writing down the students (mostly Ravenclaws) who had already completed their transfiguration.  Just then, two Slytherin boys slunk surreptitiously into seats at the back of the room, obviously hoping to evade Hermione's notice.  It didn't work.  Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle an evil, triumphant grin.  _Well, well, Severus, it looks like your students are going to make this easy on me, _she thought deviously, neglecting to notice that she had thought of Snape as 'Severus.' 

            "Perhaps Misters McGregor and Teague can explain to me why they do not feel it necessary to arrive in class on time," she said pointedly, glaring at the two Slytherin boys who were presently attempting to become invisible by disappearing into their seats.

            "Well, uh-"

"It's just that-"

            "We were, uh-"

            Hermione rolled her eyes at the boys' inarticulate ramblings, and tried to ignore the disturbing resemblance between the two Slytherins and her own best friends, Harry and Ron, who had been hardly more eloquent when caught breaking rules.  

            "Well, thank you for that lucid enlightenment, boys.  You really ought to consider a career in rhetoric," she snapped icily.  She noticed that the Ravenclaws were biting back sniggers of amusement at her sarcasm, while the Slytherins wore alternating expressions of displeasure and bewilderment.  Her two victims were among the latter, neither one of them apparently cognizant of the meaning of most of the words she had just thrown at them.

"However, your future plans aside, you should be well aware by now that I do not tolerate tardiness.  Twenty points each from Slytherin, and it'll be fifty if you decide to swagger in so much as a nanosecond after the bell in the future." Her stone cold countenance left no room for discussion, and she began moving about the classroom, checking on her pupils' progress.

McGregor and Teague were horrified.  Twenty points _each?_  Professor Granger had never been so harsh!  That was forty points from Slytherin, just because they had walked in fifteen seconds late!  It occurred to neither one of them that Professor Snape habitually did the same thing to Gryffindor, nor would they have cared.  But they had not seen the worst of it.

 Hermione scoured the room like a hawk, searching for any sign of misbehavior.  She paced through the aisles, glaring at random Slytherins, almost daring them to glare back.  Most of them, being only twelve years old, withered under her steely gaze and pretended to be absorbed in their wand waving.  A few, however, summoned enough courage to scowl back when they thought she wasn't looking.  One boy leaned over to his partner, whispering something in a conspiratorial manner, his eyes darting rather obviously across the room to his professor.  

_James Bond you are not, _she thought with a smirk.  "Mister Crawford, I do not recall making this a team project.  Ten points from Slytherin," she snapped.  The boy's face went dark with anger, but he turned his attention back to his assignment.

By the end of the period, Slytherin had lost sixty-five points:  forty for tardiness, ten for impertinent whisperings, ten for a dropped schoolbag (which startled other students, causing them to botch their transfigurations – or so Hermione claimed), and five for inattention.  When the bell rang, the Slytherins, furious and sullen, bolted as one from her classroom, leaving the Ravenclaws, uneasy but relieved that Professor Granger had apparently not taken her bad day out on them, to file out of the class afterwards.

            Hermione grinned wickedly to herself after the last of the students had exited the room.  A part of her felt slightly unethical for her admittedly unfair strictness - after all, was she now no better than Snape himself?  He used any rule in the book – and, beyond that, made up his own – to take points from Gryffindor.  His disgustingly unabashed favoritism for his own students – spoiled brats all, Hermione thought uncharitably – deserved a little retribution.  Besides, it was rather entertaining to watch the slimy little serpents wriggling in discomfort, much as she and her friends (and countless other Gryffindors) had done in Snape's class.  

   _Payback is such a bitch, Severus, _she thought, and allowed herself a diabolical snicker as her next class, fifth year Gryffindors, started to filter in.  

Severus Snape gave his students one final sneer as they clogged the doorway of his classroom, eager to escape as soon as the bell had sounded.  First year Hufflepuffs were not Snape's idea of a relaxing morning, and he found himself looking forward to some nice, steaming coffee at lunch.  Tidying up his desk a bit, he swooped out of his classroom and up the stairs from the dungeon, making his way to the Great Hall.  

As he emerged into the Entrance Hall, he noticed the four hourglasses displayed near the massive entrance doors that indicated House point totals.  He smirked in satisfaction as he walked past the Gryffindor hourglass, noticing the spare amount of red beads contained therein.  _Doesn't look like the Lions will be winning the House Cup this year, _he thought with a sneer.  _So very sorry to disappoint you, Professor Granger._  He passed Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw's hourglasses, heading towards the one on the end topped with a bronze serpent.  Slytherin had won the Cup the last two years, their longest streak since the insufferable Golden Trio of Gryffindor had polluted the halls of Hogwarts, claiming the Cup for their House nearly every year of their tenure.  _Make that three years in a row, _Snape thought with satisfaction as he sauntered over to check his House's points total.

At first, Snape was sure there had been a mistake.  Obviously the enchantment on the hourglass had gone haywire and was no longer responding properly to point additions and reductions.  He stared in disbelief at Slytherin's hourglass, now minus eighty-five points since he had last checked it.  That put Slytherin just above Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in total points standing – and completely destroyed Slytherin's comfortable lead over the rest of the houses.  

Snape opened and closed his jaw, looking for all the world like a fish out of water, his body shaking with rage.  _That complete, meddling bitch,_ he thought furiously as he stared at Slytherin's less than impressive points.  _That interfering, impertinent little tart!  HOW DARE SHE!_

"Hello, Severus.  Lovely day, isn't it?"  HER voice.  She _dared_ to speak to him!  After this!  He spun around, his jaw still twitching in fury.  

"You!  You… you - " In all his life, Severus Snape had never found himself at such a loss for words.  No one had ever dared defy him so!  He was Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, overgrown bat and Evil Scary Potions Master!  She should be cowering in fear before him, trembling in dread anticipation of his wrath!  But there she was, standing as calm as could be, even daring to smile at him!  

It was all Hermione could do not to burst out laughing at Snape's palpable rage.  He was veritably quivering with anger, and she knew then that her plan was working perfectly – she had succeeded in getting under his skin as few others had.  She found herself quite enjoying his reaction, partially because she found she enjoyed the power she now held over him, the power to press his emotional buttons and work him into such a whirlwind of fury.  The perspicacious part of her brain noted that she was perhaps quite unique in her ability to crack Severus Snape's well-crafted control, and she filed away that observation for future use.  

She looked into his eyes then – ye Gods almighty!  They were burning with a fire she had never before seen, flames of anger and pride and something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on, dancing in the obsidian depths.  His eyes had always been cold and detached, cruel and distant, sparking only when his face twisted into a sneer as his razor sharp tongue ripped through carefully crafted defenses, leaving his victim stricken and gutted.  Now, however, they were positively alive, alive and glowing with _something_.  She did not want to pry too deeply into what exactly that something might be, not until she sorted out for herself why that mysterious fire in his eyes was making her squirm with her own unidentified _something._  

She realized then that they had been staring at each other for some time, and that students were beginning to filter into the Entrance Hall, heading down to lunch.  She broke the mounting tension with another syrupy smile.

"See you in the Great Hall, Professor," she called over her shoulder as she turned away from him to claim her seat at the High Table.  He stared after her wordlessly, watching her smile and nod at her Gryffindors as she joined the queue filing into the Great Hall.

  For the second time that day, Severus found himself utterly bewildered, intensely frustrated, and undeniably amazed by the force of nature that was Hermione Granger.  He had rounded on her, prepared to verbally eviscerate her for her impudent behavior and demand that she cease this childish rivalry nonsense – hell, he was even prepared to declare something of a truce with her, as it was clear that Gryffindor no longer posed a threat for the House Cup.  And she had stared right back at him, as cool as could be, even seeming to enjoy herself.  Lesser mortals quaked in fear before the wrath of Severus Snape, but she, to all appearances, was amused by his display of seething anger.  It had been a long time since he had felt such intense emotion – usually he regarded those he did not like (which was nearly everybody) with a sneer of disdain or an acerbic verbal barb.  He rarely allowed himself to be provoked into such an unthinking fit of rage.  And then – then, Gods, she had looked into his eyes, and he locked his gaze to hers, and saw her amusement, her playful challenge, and something else that he couldn't quite identify.  Her eyes, the color of dark chocolate, captivated him, held him entranced, petrified him like a Gorgon, only she wasn't terrible and malicious but alluring.  He couldn't remember the last time anyone had had that effect on him.  The realization made him uneasy.  He was used to having control, over himself and over his emotions – and here was a woman who could match his wits, who knew how to get under his skin, break down his defenses, and make him feel strange and anxious and excited and confused all at once.  This was uncharted territory, _terra incognito_, and it frightened him.  After all, he was no Gryffindor, and charging into the unknown was not a Slytherin's modus operandi.  

Taking a deep breath to calm his jittery nerves, he shoved all thoughts of Hermione Granger and her strange effect on him to the back of his mind and strode towards the Great Hall, resolving to take a seat as far away from her as was possible.  


	4. Peace Talks

A/N:  A great big thanks to all my reviewers so far – glad you're liking it.  This chapter was a little harder to write, so hopefully it isn't substandard.  Just one or two more chapters, I think – hopefully I'll get them out within a week.  Enjoy!

News and rumors at Hogwarts tended to spread like wildfire.  If students were caught snogging in the Astronomy Tower, for instance, the whole school was guaranteed to hear about it in twenty-four hours or less.  Thus it was that the points war between Slytherin and Gryffindor perpetuated by the two House Heads was the talk of the Great Hall at dinner.  

            "Did you hear about Snape and Granger's grudge match?  Granger took _fifty_ points from Slytherin during Transfiguration today!  Kinda makes me glad I'm a Ravenclaw.  Hey, Barney, pass me the carrots," Ravenclaw fifth-year prefect Jeremy Banks said as he shoveled mashed potatoes onto his plate.  

            Barney Norton nodded enthusiastically as he handed his classmate the carrot dish.  "Of course we've heard about it.  It's kind of hard _not_ to hear about it when the Gryffindors and Slytherins are bitching so loud in the halls that you can't hear yourself think.  Not that I blame them, I mean, I'd be bitching too if some psycho teacher had a blood vendetta against my House… though I daresay the Slytherins deserve it, whiny little blue-blooded prats always lording their so-called superiority over everyone else, kinda nice to see them get some of their own back, the little pissants -"

            "Barney! You're rambling again," Jeremy interrupted, now spooning large quantities of carrots on his plate.  "And besides, Snape's been hideously unfair for years.  It's about time someone started beating him at his own game.  I'm just glad I'm not caught in the crossfire."

            "Yeah, Snape was _really_ awful to the Gryffindors in Potions today, even more than usual," piped up third-year Thomas Constable.  "He took sixty points from them today, and for dumb stuff, too.  He took ten points from Justin Pollack for picking his nose!  Justin about died right then and there.  He turned an absolutely ghastly shade of puce and wouldn't look at anyone else for the duration of the class.  I mean, how embarrassing!"

            "Yeah, but Snape could always argue that he was just looking out for the safety of the class," Barney broke in.  "After all, what if he'd been leaning over his cauldron?  Who knows what effect boogers would have on the potion?"

            This earned a great laugh from the boys at the table and not a few disgusted glares from the girls, and the house war was forgotten in lieu of a scintillating debate regarding the magical properties of mucus.      

            The other faculty members, however, were less than amused at the antics of their two colleagues.  Headmistress McGonagall in particular was not pleased about the behavior of her successor and Professor Snape.  She sat at the High Table, picking reticently at her roast beef, lips pursed and refusing to look at either Severus or Hermione, who had chosen seats at opposite ends of the table.  

            "Minerva?" Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick, Professor of Charms and Head of Ravenclaw, glanced worriedly at his old friend.  "Minerva, you're barely eating anything… do you feel all right?"  

            "No, I don't feel all right!" she snapped, causing tiny Flitwick to jump in surprise at her sudden vehemence.  She sighed impatiently and shoved her plate away from her.  "I'm sorry, Filius, I shouldn't have snapped at you… but I am sick to death of this!  Two of my staff behaving like puerile third-years!  In all my years of teaching I have _never_ seen anything this ridiculous!  I am all for friendly House rivalry, Filius; you know that.  Hell, I know Severus can be unfair, but I never had a real problem with him in all my years as Head of Gryffindor, and I know Hermione fairly well – she was remarkably mature even as a student.  I don't understand, Filius!  I respect them both and I know they respect me, but I just don't understand this animosity," she gave a defeated sigh and turned towards her colleague.

            Flitwick shifted in his seat to better face McGonagall.  "Perhaps, Minerva, you understand the problem better than you think," he said calmly.  Her puzzled expression prompted him to elaborate.  "Well, you know they respect you, and vise-versa.  But I think the root of the problem lies in their hostility for each other.  You know Severus never liked Hermione when she was a student here, and I'm sure the dislike was reciprocated.  You know that he disliked Potter and his friends above even the other Gryffindors.  And, well, perhaps he's just having trouble accepting her as his equal.  And you know Hermione's stubborn streak probably better than I do.  Once she has something in her mind, she'll stop at nothing to see it through – I guess she's bound and determined to make Severus see the error of his ways, or else drain all house points from Slytherin in the process," Flitwick explained.

            McGonagall snorted.  "Talk about a lost cause.  Well, as usual, Filius, you're probably right.  However, this cannot be allowed to continue.  I've heard the Gryffindors and Slytherins in the halls – they're positively mutinous, Filius.  I'll just have to have a little chat with our two squabbling colleagues and see if I can't put an end to this nonsense once and for all.  A few more days of this and there won't _be_ any points to take away from either House.  Excuse me, Filius – and thank you again for your advice," McGonagall nodded to Flitwick and rose from the table.

            Severus sliced viciously at his roast beef, taking delight in maiming it beyond recognition.  Gods, he couldn't get her out of his mind!  He wasn't sure he'd ever had the dubious pleasure of encountering someone so singularly frustrating.  Slytherin had now dropped well below Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, putting it in close contention with Gryffindor for the honor of dead last.  _And to think that but two days ago visions of a third consecutive House Cup graced my dreams._  So much for that.  One more fantasy shot all to hell.  _But I'm – _stab – _not – _stab – _BITTER or anything!_ He stabbed his beef one last time for good measure and shoved the mutilated mess away from him in disgust.  Professor Sprout, sitting on his right, glanced from the remnants of his dinner to his scowling face and clucked in disapproval.  He shot her his iciest glare.  _Your House hasn't just seen its Cup dreams go down in a fiery blaze, so don't cluck at me, you nattering old biddy,_ he thought crossly.  He heard insistent footsteps making their way towards him and he groaned inwardly.  Whoever it was, he was _not_ in a mood to talk – 

            "Severus."  Headmistress McGonagall stood before him imperiously, fixing her sternest glare on him.  _Oh God.  _

            "Minerva," he responded guardedly.  He was about to ask her why she was looming over him and why she was glaring at him like he was a troublemaking fifth-year when she leaned over the table, her eyes boring into his.  _Uh oh, that's her worst Glare of Displeasure.  This can't be good._

"Severus, this foolishness with Hermione is going to stop.  You will meet me in my office at eight o' clock to discuss this matter," she said curtly.  _What?_  He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a glare.

            "Not a word of complaint, Severus, and this is not a request.  You _will_ be in my office at eight o' clock.  Understood?"

            God, she could make him feel like a thirteen-year-old.  "Yes," he mumbled.

            She allowed herself a thin-lipped smile.  "Good," she said, and marched out of the Hall.  Severus scowled after her, pointedly ignoring Sprout's unsubtle curiosity.  Certain he was in for a headache later, he rose from the table and strode out of the Hall, down to retrieve a pain-numbing potion from his private stores.

            "William Wallace."

            Severus supposed McGonagall's penchant for naming her passwords after famous Scots was more keeping with the dignity of the Headmaster's office than Dumbledore's candy references had been.  However, he had been quite misty-eyed when, upon entering the office for the first time since Dumbledore's passing, he had not said 'Fizzing Whizbees' or something foolish like that.  _I miss you, you crazy old codger_. __

He trudged up the spiral staircase and emerged through the door into McGonagall's office.  The Headmistress was seated behind her desk, looking stern as ever, and Hermione Granger sat stiffly in one of the two guest chairs.  Severus froze.  McGonagall hadn't said anything about _her_ being there too!  

            McGonagall gestured impatiently at the other seat.  "Do sit down, Severus.  The gaping fish look does not become you."  Hermione stifled a snicker as Severus glowered at McGonagall.

            "I'm not in the mood for idle chitchat, so I'll get straight to the point.  You both know why you're here.  This ludicrous business has got to stop.  You are acting like children, and your Houses are suffering for your juvenility.  Do you understand me?"

            Severus and Hermione nodded and murmured their assent, neither of them able to shake the feeling that they were once again students being brought to task by their teacher.  

            "Good.  Now perhaps you can explain to me why this incident got out of control in the first place," McGonagall said, folding her hands onto the table before her.

            Hermione sat, shifting uncomfortably before the steely glare of her former professor and current boss.  It was a reasonable question – how exactly had this spiraled into such a brutal competition?  Of course, she had wanted to give Severus a taste of his own medicine, and she had been naïve not to expect him to respond.  But that look in his eyes when she had confronted him by the hourglasses – it was priceless, seeing him so flustered and speechless.  And she still felt that nagging _something_ that she had first become aware of when staring into his eyes, and that _something_, whatever it was, liked pressing his buttons and getting under his skin.  She had observed him at dinner from the opposite end of the table, angrily mauling his beef to bits, and it gave her a thrill to know that _she_ was responsible for his state of turmoil.  She decided to test the waters.

            "I thought it was about time that someone threw Severus' blatant favoritism and bias back in his face," she proclaimed.  "I was sick and tired of losing the House Cup to Slytherin every year because their Head of House cheats his way to victory.  Nice moral code you're reinforcing in your House, by the way, Severus," she pressed further.

            Severus' eyes widened at her accusations.  "My disciplinary methods are not for you to question!  And I _resent_ your implication that I encourage cheating in my House!  Nothing could be further from the truth! I -" He never got the chance to finish his thought.

            "ENOUGH!" roared McGonagall.  "I can see that trying to get the two of you to see eye to eye requires far more patience than I currently possess, and frankly, I don't give much of a damn.  But this points war will stop, and it will stop now.  In fact, I am forthwith suspending your right to take points from each other's House -" 

            This declaration was met with outraged cries from both parties.  "How am I supposed to keep order -"  "That's hardly fair, Minerva -"

            "SILENCE!" McGonagall was one step from furious, and it showed in her face.  Severus and Hermione obeyed without question.

            "I am suspending your right to take points from the other's House -" her eyes dared them to challenge her – "and if I hear from students that either of you is behaving in an overly discriminatory manner towards students of the other's House, you _will_ answer to me. Do I make myself clear?"  McGonagall was at her most imperious, and neither of them dared to question her.  They grudgingly agreed.  

            "Good.  I don't want to hear any more of this foolish nonsense.  You are dismissed," she said primly.  Warily, Severus and Hermione rose, Severus practically rushing to get to the door before Hermione.  They descended the staircase and exited into the corridor.  He turned his back to the door and proceeded towards the dungeons.

            "Severus."

            He froze.  Gods almighty, what did she _want_?  He turned slowly, not bothering to hide the venom in his features.  "What?" he snapped archly.

            She noted his discomfort with pleasure as she approached him.  "I think you heard Minerva's warning as well as I did," she began innocently.

            "I damn well heard every word she said!  What in the seven hells is your point?" he snarled.

            She arched an eyebrow at him.  "My my, testy, aren't we?"  

He narrowed his eyes at her.  "Out with it, woman!  Stop wasting my time!"

She allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across her face.  "Oh?  Wasting your time, am I?" She was very close to him now.  Close enough to smell his Irish Spring.  

His mind reeled with anger.  _She's playing with me like a goddamned cat with a toy!  She's taunting me! She _dares _to treat me flippantly like a child – oh.  Is that her hair that smells like peaches?  My…_He realized that he had been staring at her, transfixed, for several seconds, his witty retort dead in his throat.  She smelled divine.  And didn't look too shabby, either.  Maybe she wasn't Venus, but he sure as hell wasn't Adonis.  She had quite lovely eyes, he decided, and her complexion was a lovely creamy shade, nicely suited to her chocolaty curls of hair that fell down around her face in gently tendrils, framing her high cheekbones and her full lips – _whoa.  Whoa, Severus.  Down, boy._

She watched him gaze at her, biting back a snarky comment as she looked in his eyes.  He was staring at her with an enraptured expression on his face – apparently he liked was he was seeing.  This sent a small thrill along Hermione's nerves.  She returned his appraisal.  He really was kind of good looking in a brooding Victorian Gothic sort of way.  His long black hair, his angular features, even his prominent nose – somehow, it all suited him.  Maybe he wasn't Gilderoy Lockhart, but hell.  She'd take substance over style any day.  _Wait!  What in the hell am I thinking?  I don't fancy Severus!  Err… don't I?_

Suddenly they came to the mutual realization that they had been standing close enough to brush together, staring at each other for the past few minutes.  He turned away sharply and she cleared her throat.  

"If you are done wasting my time, Hermione, I have other things I would like to do tonight.  Excuse me," and with that, he strode off towards the dungeons.  He rather needed to remove himself from her presence as soon as possible, before she noticed, er, anything amiss.

Hermione glared at his retreating form, her previous thoughts of him giving way to ire._  Wasting his time?_  He had been the one who had stared at her all googly-eyed for five minutes!  She, wasting _his_ time?  The nerve!  She felt her blood boiling beneath her skin.

"You insufferable bastard!" she spat, whirling around and stalking towards Gryffindor Tower.

She did not see the contented smile that spread across his face at her words as he marched off to his rooms.  To his delight, he passed two blushing Hufflepuff fourth-years huddled into an alcove (_a rather unsubtle spot to snog_, he thought, _but that's Hufflepuff for you_) and docked thirty points from their House.  

  The chastened Hufflepuffs, returning to their common room, wondered why Professor Snape had been walking so strangely.              


	5. Ceasefire

A/N: Dear GOD. I apologize to everyone who read and reviewed this story for the abhorrent delay in posting the final chapter. Funny how life gets away with you, isn't it? I can hardly use college as an excuse, as I am aware of plenty of college students who manage to update _their_ stories on a regular basis. All I can do is offer my apologies, hope that people are still interested in reading this and/or haven't forgotten completely about it, and forgive me for my exorbitant tardiness. Oh, and yes, Hermione 2113, if you're still reading this nearly a year later, I did get the title for this fic from _Whose Line Is It, Anyway? _You get twenty points! Meanwhile, I hereby deduct 1000 points from myself for taking nearly a year to finish this. I may post an epilogue, but I can't say when – soon, hopefully within a week or so. So anyway, on with the show!

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Three weeks had passed since McGonagall had suspended the two rival Heads of House from docking points, and yet the tension between the two was as high as ever. They had taken to sitting on opposite ends of the High Table during meals, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the other. Their passings in the halls were marked by baleful glares and stony silence, and though McGonagall had effectively put an end to the points rivalry, relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin had returned to their prewar enmity. Slytherin students hexed Gryffindors in the hallways and the Gryffindors paid them back in kind. Though Professors Snape and Granger did not interfere in the ongoing house war, the other teachers picked up their disciplinary slack, and soon Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied for dead last, far behind both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in points standings.

Hermione sat in her office, hunched over a stack of final exams from her sixth-year Advanced Transfigurations class. She tried to focus on the test in front of her, but her concentration was just not up to par. Snape's attitude towards her had gotten progressively worse in the weeks following their meeting with McGonagall, and his constant sneering smirk was fraying her last nerve down to a thread. Sighing, she pushed away the stack of tests; it was unfair to her students to grade their final exams when she could not fully concentrate on the words in front of her.

Hermione decided that a leisurely stroll past the rose bushes would be just the thing to quiet her jittery nerves. On her way out the main doors, she glanced wistfully at Gryffindor's hourglass, now showing a grand total of thirty-five points. She should've known better than to try to out-manipulate a Slytherin. Gryffindor hadn't gained anything from her actions except more trouble with their old bitter rival - and now Snape despised her worse than before.

She felt herself tense at the thought of his name. She resented the way he treated her, as if she were still an overeager third year frantically waving her hand in his class. But then again, he did seem to have a problem with holding onto things. _Isn't this the man who stills bears an active and smoldering loathing of his childhood tormentors? _Then again, he did have a reason for disliking them so, after the horrid way they treated him. But what had she ever done to him? Defended him against the never ending accusations of Harry and Ron? She shook her head – there was no reasonable explanation for his attitude towards her besides his hateful and petty nature.

She sat down on a bench in the garden, thinking about the enigma that was Severus Snape. It was true, she had enjoyed pushing his buttons and rendering him speechless – and that was, she was ashamed to admit, a major reason that their competition had been so enjoyable for her. His reactions were priceless, and she swore she had seen, from time to time, a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before, that perhaps indicated feelings more complex than the derision and disdain she most often saw.

But obviously she had been imagining all that. Ever since their encounter outside McGonagall's office – where she had sworn that he had stared, fascinated, at her for several minutes – he had treated her as hatefully and spitefully as he had in the past, acknowledging her with barely disguised contempt, if at all. _And to think that I thought I actually fancied that son of a bitch_, she thought angrily.

Deciding that the purported soothing effects of the garden left something to be desired, Hermione quickly exited, deciding that she was just going to fix herself a cup of tea and force thoughts of Snape out of her mind until dinner, and maybe in the meantime actually get a few of her exams graded.

She was on her way back up to her office when she saw him coming down the corridor towards her. She stiffened imperceptibly, then forcibly reminded herself that she refused to allow this man to make her feel like a student caught making mischief in the halls. She inclined her head ever so slightly at him as he passed by, wearing his trademark smirk.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," she said smoothly, with a faint shadow of a smile playing on her lips. She was sure she felt as much enmity for him as he did for her, but she would be damned if she wasn't going to take the moral high ground.

At first she thought he was going to ignore her and keep walking past, but then, just as he had nearly breezed by her in a flurry of robes, he paused for a moment.

"Miss Granger," he replied evenly, just the slightest trace of sarcasm in his voice. Then he swept past her, rounded the corner, and was gone.

Hermione stood there, rooted to the ground, trembling with barely repressed fury. _Miss_ Granger? _MISS_ Granger!? How _dare_ he? How long had she been a professor at Hogwarts? (_Four years_, her mind whispered.) And he had the sheer nerve to address her as if she were nothing more than a miscreant student?

_ Not that I'm a bit surprised_, she thought bitterly, all thoughts of grading forgotten. His petty little jibe was finally the straw that broke the camel's back. She turned around and stalked toward the dungeons. As a faculty member, she had access to all classroom doors in the castle – and she was going to confront him once and for all, in a place where she knew he could not avoid her.

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Severus Snape stalked down to the dungeons, gleefully smirking. He had just taken thirty points from Ravenclaw after a third year student accidentally dropped his backpack and spilled his ink across the floor of the hallway. Stalking into his dungeon classroom, Severus banged the door open with a flourish and retreated to his desk to attend to the stack of first-year final exams.

He felt a brief twinge of remorse for baiting Granger so, but it quickly passed. After all, had _she_ not been the one gleefully pushing his buttons and deliberately goading him for several weeks? It only served her right that he pay her back a little in kind. If she thought she had the balls to take on the undisputed king of favoritism in a house war, then she should have been prepared for the consequences.

He stopped briefly as he realized that, unconsciously, he had just admitted that she was right. He was ungodly biased, wasn't he? He always tried to justify his blatant favoritism towards Slytherin by pointing out the discrimination they received at the hands of other professors- discrimination that hadn't really occurred until Granger had decided to teach him a lesson. He snarled angrily and shoved the stack of papers away from him. Why did she have this effect on him? Why did she make him question things that he had always taken for granted?

Not that that was the only effect she had on him. That was another reason he felt so hostile to her when he saw her- she aroused in him feelings that were utterly foreign to him, feelings of such a complexity that he could not fully articulate exactly what she did to him, only that it was a strange combination of awe, mystery, desire, and, perhaps, affection. He thought again to the night outside McGonagall's office when he had stared at her, enraptured by her. She was such a contradiction- plain yet beautiful, practical yet brilliant, timid yet confident. Two contrasting natures that balanced each other in a perfect dichotomy-

He found, to his pleasure and his dismay, that thoughts of her produced in him the same reaction that gazing upon her had done that night. Well, sod the first year exams, anyway. He was sure that they were just as dismal as always. Groaning, he rose slowly from his chair, determined to take care of his little problem, preferably in the shower.

As if on cue, his door burst open, and into his classroom flew a furious Hermione Granger. Severus plopped, rather ungracefully, back into his chair and hurriedly crossed his legs. Fortunately, Hermione was too focused on her rage to notice his, er, reaction.

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed, spitting out each word as if it were something highly distasteful. She approached his desk, leaning against it menacingly. "Just where do you think you get off calling me _Miss_ Granger, _Professor?_" She slathered this last word in utmost sarcasm, but it was utterly lost on Severus Snape. His brain had ceased functioning after the words "get off."

Very soon he realized that she was staring at him furiously, obviously expecting a reply. He regretted then that all of his blood had diverted to his nether regions, leaving his usually witty retorts at a marked disadvantage.

Hermione stared at him incredulously. She had charged into the room expecting to duke it out with Severus Snape in a full-blown battle of wits, insults, sarcasm, and perhaps wands, but instead she was confronted with a decidedly _mortified_ looking Potions Master, complete with flushed face and inarticulate gurgling. This was certainly a letdown- after all the infuriating taunts he had been flinging her way, and all he can do is cross his legs and look- _oh._

Realization hit Hermione like a load of bricks, and she flushed as she realized why exactly he was unable to string together a coherent sentence. Her embarrassment turned to anger quickly. So she aroused him, did she? _What a pathetically third-year way of expressing your attraction, Severus. Picking on a girl is the surest way to her heart._

"Embarrassed, Professor?" she snapped irritably. "So is that why you're such an insufferable bastard to me all the time? Because I turn you on? Or are you just aroused by sarcasm in general? Because in that case, I'd hate to think how often you get hard during class-"

"Stop it!" he snapped suddenly, his face contorted with anger, discomfort, or most likely, a healthy combination of both. "Enjoying my shame, are you? Got to rub it in my face, have you? Why couldn't you just let things be? Why do you have to be so damned insufferable?" He was raging now, his face a peculiar shade of red.

His tirade only served to infuriate Hermione all the more. "Me? Insufferable? HA! You are the one whose blatant favoritism started everything! You refuse to treat me with the respect I am due as your colleague! You _continue_ to treat me as a child!" She leaned over his desk, her curly hair disheveled around her face.

"I can assure you, Professor Snape, that I am not a child," she hissed dangerously, gripping the sides of his desk. Her body was flushed and he could smell her wonderful peachy scent, and he felt his self control waver. He knew good and damn well that she wasn't a child. He was reminded of that every time he saw her, saw her soft curves just visible beneath her robes and felt the urge to taste her creamy pale skin.

Snape was nearly beside himself with agitation and desire. "I know that in my head, Hermione," he finally managed in a strangled voice. "But every time I see you, so-" his voice faltered- "desirable, I can't help but see you in my classroom in your school uniform, and it makes me feel so…" He cut himself off abruptly and stood, turning his back to her, his shoulders rigid and tense.

Despite herself, Hermione immediately felt terrible for humiliating him so. "Professor," she said gently. He didn't turn around. She walked around his desk until she was standing behind him. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders, felt his taut muscles stiffen in surprise and agitation at her touch, heard the sharp intake of his breath and sensed the electricity between them.

"Severus," she whispered. He turned around then, and what she saw in his eyes took her breath away. The fire was there, like before, only now it was burning with an intensity and ardor that seared into her soul like the naked rays of the midday sun. She felt the _something_ rise up in her more forcefully than ever before, and at that exact moment she knew precisely what it was within her, and what she saw reflected in him: lust and desire, to be sure, but also affection, and affinity, and maybe the seeds of something that, if properly planted and nourished, could grow to become love.

He saw in her eyes the culmination and consummation of all the fiery passion and repressed longing that had consumed his mind and besieged his senses, and at that moment all his objections and rationality and prim decorum fell away, leaving him raw and unadorned before her, his soul unhidden by the many layers of cool detachment he usually affected in the presence of others. He felt the fire within him, burning with the untamed fervor of discovery, and he allowed his heart to guide him for the first time since he could remember.

Their lips met, and it was sweet and tender and wild and lustful all at once, and each drank the passion from the other's lips until they were inebriated with the fullness of their desire. They pulled apart reluctantly, each gasping for air like a drowning man who breaks above the surface of the water and sucks life-giving oxygen into his lungs. They moved closer, this time more deliberately and with more measure and restraint, and, eyes locked, began the dance of exploration and wonder particular to new lovers.

Severus lifted a trembling hand and drew his fingertips across Hermione's forehead, lightly brushing a tendril of curly hair from her face. She reached her hand up slowly, entwining her fingers in his, and brought his hand to her mouth. She rested her lips against the back of his hand, delighting in the feel of his long, delicate fingers and his smooth skin against her. He really was a beautiful man, she reflected. His ebony eyes, so full of tenderness and desire, framed by impeccably arched eyebrows that perfectly suited the angular contours of his face. His pale alabaster skin in sharp contrast to his impossibly dark raven hair and eyes, offset by his pale pink bow-shaped lips, which parted just slightly in anticipation of further attention. He was a gothic fantasy come to life, a snarky, sullen, beautiful, withdrawn, fragile, gentle, dark soul, plagued by insecurity and self-doubt yet yearning for love and kindness.

Hermione placed a gentle kiss on his hand and pulled his arm around her, placing his hand at the small of her back. He tensed at this new contact but found himself distracted by her lips on his neck, sensuously caressing the hollow of his throat with her tongue. A soft moan escaped his lips and he drew both his arms around her, trailing his hands down the soft curves of her body that had so often been the object of his fantasies. Without a further word, he lifted her up and set her on his desk, his hands running down her hips and thighs.

"Severus," Hermione breathed, and the sound of her voice, not bossy and demanding but sensuous and erotic, sent a thrill through his body straight to his groin, and he felt his manhood begin to harden further in response to her tender ministrations. Without a word, he swiftly and gracefully mounted the desk, laying her down gently beneath him. His lips sought hers and once more they kissed, a passionate declaration of feelings for which there were no words.

She could feel his erection now, straining against its fabric barrier, pressing insistently into her stomach. The sensation of his palpable desire aroused a fire in her blood, a fire that quickly spread south. She could feel the pulsing in her center, felt an overwhelming and primal need to connect with this beautiful and savage creature who currently was trailing his tongue along her jaw and running his hands lightly across her clothed breasts. She moaned softly and moved her hands to his stiff collar. Understanding her unspoken request, Severus raised himself slightly and began to unbutton his thick overcoat, desire causing his usually nimble fingers to tremble. Hermione reached down and unfastened her robes, then began to unbutton her blouse. She flushed with triumphant pride when she saw his eyes greedily drinking in every inch of bare skin revealed with each undone button. Impatiently, he flung his robes from his body, then pulled hers out from under her and flung them to the floor as well. His hands gently finished unbuttoning her blouse, and he removed it to reveal her round breasts pressing against a simple cotton bra.

"You are far too overdressed for the occasion, Severus," she whispered to him, sending a shiver down his spine as she set about removing his starched white shirt. She gasped in pleasure as she discovered that he wore no undershirt, the lean muscles of his slender chest revealed to her hungry eyes. She slipped the shirt off his shoulders, and her gaze flickered up to his face. Their eyes met, and she felt her heart pause for a beat as she lost herself in his ebony eyes. She smiled then, a ghost of a smile, and ran a finger across his lips.

"You know, you're a fantastic kisser, Severus," she murmured, earning a self-conscious blush from her newfound lover. "I'd say that's enough to earn ten points for Slytherin."

The shock in his face was evident as her laughter rang through the classroom, but he managed to compose himself enough to smother her glee with a deep kiss. They came up for air, her hands drifting down to idly caress his bare chest, his arms sliding around her back and playing with the strap of her bra.

"I'll make you a deal, Hermione," he purred, his silken voice every bit as adept at seduction as it was in rousing terror. "If you help me to remove this… cumbersome garment, I'll consider adding twenty points to Gryffindor." She shivered at the raw, sexual velvet of his voice, her eyes never once leaving his as she reached slowly behind her back, her hands meeting his as she unfastened her bra.

The unneeded garment fell to the floor, and Severus reverently cupped her soft breasts in his large hands. Her arms reached up to twine around his neck, and he planted a delicate kiss on her nose before slowly making his way down her neck and shoulders to take a sensitive nipple between his lips. He felt himself stiffen further at her gasps of pleasure, and ministered lovingly to each rosy bud in turn.

When he removed his mouth from her breast he was met with a disappointed groan. He then captured her lips in his, and drawing back, gazed deep into her eyes.

"Yes," he hissed. "I think twenty points for Gryffindor will do _very _nicely."

Hermione's chiming laughter was this time joined by Severus' deep baritone, a jovial laugh that was soon suffocated by a crushing, passionate kiss.

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Professor McGonagall strolled down from her office, heading towards the main doors. She was pleased this morning; there had been no troublemaking students all week, and better yet, she had yet to hear of any further animosity between Severus and Hermione. Of course, she saw the poison glares they gave each other, but all she could hope was that summer would give them enough time and space to cool their hot heads and their raging rivalry. At least they had stopped sabotaging each other's house. _Thanks God for small victories_, McGonagall thought with exasperation.

As she prepared to exit the main doors of Hogwarts, she noticed something different. Stopping, she turned to look at the points hourglasses. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw –

"Oh!" she exclaimed. Gryffindor had somehow gained sixty points since the last time she had checked! Of course, such a sudden gain seemed suspicious, but as Gryffindor's former Head of House, she was willing to overlook a bit of bias on its behalf.

Then her gaze traveled over to Slytherin's hourglass, and her eyebrows arched in puzzlement. Apparently, Slytherin too had a benefactor, for it also was sixty points richer than it had been earlier. _What in the world? Suddenly they're mysteriously _gaining _points? _

Then it dawned on her. _Oh._ McGonagall felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth as she realized exactly how the two rival houses had suddenly gained so many points in such a short period of time. Feeling newly rejuvenated, she opened the broad doors to Hogwarts, breathing deeply of the fresh June air.

"They've always said there's a thin line between love and hate," she murmured to herself. "Well, I suppose this just goes to show." Meandering out to the rose gardens, Minerva McGonagall began to whistle an old Scottish tune, one her mother had sang to her when she was but a wee bairn. She thought of Albus Dumbledore then, and how pleased he would've been to see Severus Snape finally find some happiness and peace of mind.

"Hello, Minerva!" A jovial Filius Flitwick called out to his colleague from across the garden. He stood next to an enchanted rose bush that had been ensorcelled to produce blood red roses all year round. Plucking one of the roses from the bush, he turned and gave it to McGonagall, who accepted it with a warm smile. They stood in silence for a few minutes, content to bask in the warm sunlight and gentle breeze that blew in from the lake. Neither wanted to break the still in the air, both sensing the magic of the moment. Finally, Flitwick turned his head to appraise the headmistress, who appeared curiously at ease.

"It's a beautiful day, Minerva," he said quietly.

McGonagall turned to regard her diminutive colleague. She rewarded him with a rare full smile, an expression often unseen on her stern countenance.

"Yes, it is, Filius. Yes, it most certainly is."

They stood in silence for several moments more before turning around and heading back into the castle.

finis


End file.
